


Distant Horizons (Follow Your Dreams)

by rebelcongeriem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Midoriya Izuku, Beta? Um...No?, But Nedzu? He wants to adopt Izuku, But also pulling Shinsou & Todoroki into his shenanigans, Crossover, Gen, Izuku making friends with the League. Blame Mors, Limbo, Not that they're complaining...much, Oops?, Poor Eraserhead. And All Might. And all those grey hairs he may or may not have given them, Possessive Death, Suicide Attempt, Vigilantism, You'll know when you see it, sorry? lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelcongeriem/pseuds/rebelcongeriem
Summary: 'take a swan dive off the roof,' are words he never expected to hear out of bakugou's mouth. but when his former best friend makes that thoughtless, cruel suggestion one day, midoriya izuku can't help but take it to heart—and, as a result, impulsively and recklessly flings himself headfirst into limbo, where he meets a boy and his pet owl who offer him the deal of a lifetime and then some.He just never expected the pandemonium that followed.
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku, Class 1-A & Midoriya Izuku, Death & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Death & Midoriya Izuku, League of Villains & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku & Death, Midoriya Izuku & Everyone, Midoriya Izuku & Harry Potter, Midoriya Izuku & Midoriya Inko & Harry Potter, Midoriya Izuku & Nedzu, Midoriya Izuku & Shinsou Hitoshi, Midoriya Izuku & Todoroki Shouto, Midoriya Izuku & Yagi Toshinori | All Might
Comments: 7
Kudos: 212





	Distant Horizons (Follow Your Dreams)

**Author's Note:**

> Should I be posting a brand-new story? Probably not. But I'm going to anyway, because I've had this idea floating around in my head-space for a long time and I need to get it out.
> 
> Speaking of, I've always wanted to write a **Master of Death** Harry Potter story, even if the idea itself might seem _a little_ overused to some people (but hey, it's all about how you spin it, my friends. / _winky face_.) So here we are, with my own take on the Boku no Hero Academia universe ** _!_**
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Boku no Hero Academia, but the writing? Yeah, that's mine. The plot too. And all original characters that crop up here and there, if there are any. Who knows? xD. 
> 
> **Trigger warnings** : suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts.

  


“ _Stupid Deku_. _You wanna be a hero so bad_ , _huh_? _Well_ , _I've got a time-saving idea for you_. _If you think you'll have a quirk in your next life_... _Then go take a swan dive off the roof_ —”

“ _You should consider your future more seriously_ , _Midoriya-san_. _Please be reasonable_. _UA simply isn’t in the cards for you_ —”

“ _Do you **mind**_? _Your mumbling is distracting_ —”

“ _Aren’t you embarrassed to show your face_? _I would be if I was a quirkless loser like you_ —”

“ _I’m sorry, Izu_. _I’m so_ , _**so** sorry_—”

The words sear his mind like a scalding iron, harsh and raucous, drowning out everything else until they finally bunt him over the edge and everything falls suddenly, blissfully silent. 

For a brief time, he loses sight of who he used to be, an aspiring hero who dreamt of attending the best hero academy in Japan despite his quirklessness. (Despite everyone and their mother accusing him of quixotism.) It’s pleasant, this sensation of floating on a cloud, surrounded by quiet and darkness as his thoughts stray into the depths of his subconscious, sinking deeper and deeper into the void, a gaping, black hole created to hold his worst memories. 

(He would stay there forever if he could.

But some nameless thing, instinct perhaps, tells him he can’t.) 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Midoriya Izuku languidly blinks his eyes open and tilts his head questioningly, the familiar sight of his school’s roof bringing a perplexed frown to his face. There’s something spasmodic and strange about it, almost intangible, as though a thick, dubious haze blankets the area—if hazes can possess their own personality—eerily devoid of color and life. Fingers tug anxiously on the hem of his shirt as he looks around, trying to ignore the cruel, taunting voices of the past, determined to sow ill will and spite wherever they can.

_You will never make it as a hero_.

(Malicious words that are forever engraved on his heart, gouging unfathomably deep holes into a dream that would never see the light of reality.)

_Unworthy_. _Useless_. _A waste of precious breath_.

Tears come unbidden to his eyes, his breath hitching in his throat in remembered pain.

_Quirkless losers don’t deserve to dream_.

“You’re early, Hero-kun,” says a quiet, measured voice, jolting him out of his dark thoughts.

It isn’t until he notices the dark-haired foreigner straddling the chain-link fence surrounding the school’s roof that Izuku realizes the haze has ebbed and he can see the faint outline of an owl perched on the boy’s thin shoulder. “By seventy years, give or take a few." 

“Not a hero,” Izuku objects almost absentmindedly, a resigned twist to his mouth as he warily eyes the stranger, mentally cataloging his physical traits. An unruly mop of black hair frames an almost boyish face with sharp cheekbones, an aquiline nose from which a pair of stylish, wire-framed glasses sit, and almond-shaped eyes the color of fresh basil. The other boy positively _exudes_ power, a primal energy swirling in the atmosphere that causes his stomach to knot in unease. “W, Who are you?” 

“No one important.” He gives a dismissive wave of his hand, a slight frown creasing his brow briefly as he casually swings his leg over the fence and hops down. “Not a hero, hm? But it’s my understanding that you want to be one...Or at least you did...Till you let rejection and failure and a whole host of other problems get in the way." He meets Izuku's wide-eyed, bewildered gaze and wrinkles his nose. "Honestly, I don’t miss being human. So. Many. Emotions. And so little time to deal with them all," he adds in a low voice, as if he doesn't want to be overheard—but as it happens, he's heard anyway. "So? Am I right?"

"I...Um...Yes," he mutters, unable to lie to this stranger's face. There’s just something so...genuine and straightforward and _real_ about him that the thought of lying never crosses his mind. "It’s the only thing I ever wanted to be...since forever ago...but, well, without a quirk...I can’t..."

“And?” The older boy casts a glance at his avian companion, one that is both mystifying and unnerving—and that makes the tiny hairs on the back of Izuku’s neck prickle and tingle with warning. (What is even more unnerving is the fact that the owl actually _hums_ in return, its sharp, curved beak almost smiling as it watches the green-haired boy through unblinking, fathomless eyes.) “You know, it amazes me how mankind is constantly evolving at an incredible rate—for such a short-lived species, that is—and yet, for all their proud advancements and progress, willful prejudice still abounds. How does that saying go, Mors? One step forward, two steps backward?”

“What did you expect, Harry?” Mors the Owl deadpans, a curiously melodious undercurrent echoing in an otherwise droll monotone. “Humanity is predictable.”

 _It_... _it talks_ , is the first thought to flit through Izuku’s mind, as quick as a cheetah after its prey, followed by, _an animal_... _with a quirk_? _How rare_... _I wish I had my notebook_.

“Until one of them sees fit to expedite their expiration date,” this so-called Harry tsks and looks pointedly in Izuku’s direction, all while lightly carding his fingers through the owl’s soft, thick plumage: it shimmers and gleams in the sunlight, in the way glass does when light hits it just right.

Izuku stares at them in absolute stupefaction, still trying to wrap his mind around a talking owl with attitude. “It...It spoke,” he mutters aloud, random, generalized facts about owls passing through his mind, none of which can explain away an ability usually not found in the homogeneous order of nocturnal raptors, or any birds, really—unless, as he suspects, a quirk is involved. 

_Is_ this the work of a quirk? And if so, is there a limit to the language adaption?

“Oh, yes. We have a real chatterbox over here,” says Harry, who then proceeds to blow a raspberry at Mors when the bird gives his earlobe a brief, playful nip. “But the real trick is getting him to shut up.”

“I don’t…” Izuku’s voice trails off as he scratches the back of his head nervously. For once, he’s at a loss for words, thrown completely off balance by the situation that he’s surprised he’s even still capable of standing, given how his legs currently feel like jello.

“ _Limbo_ , Harry,” the owl cautions him. Against what, Izuku cannot say. But he can only guess it has something to do with this strange, esoteric place—it reminds him of a dream he once had, involving an empty classroom and creepy fog and chalk on a blackboard, making unearthly scratches with every gibe and insult it managed to scrawl across the surface unaided.

Harry blinks, before realization dawns across his features and he snaps his fingers. “Oh, right! Listen, kid,” he suddenly addresses Izuku directly, which makes the boy blanch when he finds himself caught in the crosshairs of the brunet’s intent scrutiny, “You did a very stupid thing, but you and I both know mortal children can be obliviously cruel and insensitive to their peers, so I forgive you for the stupid thing. But now we have a problem, a _big_ problem...or, well, you do. And me too, now that I think about it...Which means more paperwork to fill out, and ugh. Can we please not add to my growing list of ignored responsibilities?” He makes a face at that, drawing a startled laugh from Izuku, who then immediately recoils from the two otherworldly beings for fear of making them angry. But Harry merely rolls his eyes, as though used to fending off unfavorable opinions, whether through words or deeds, before raising an eyebrow at the chortling owl. “Stop laughing, Mors, you lazy bastard. I thought this was supposed to be a partnership, not whatever this horrible, evil thing has turned into. Without my consent, I might add.” 

“Oh, do grow up, master,” Mors quips, and with a casualness that speaks of long-time familiarity, he cuffs the back of Harry’s head with a translucent wing. “You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to this partnership.”

“Excuse me?” Harry retorts, leveling an outraged glare at him. “ _What_ agreement? I distinctly remember telling you I wanted no part of the Hallows, but did you listen? Of course not! When do you ever listen to me?” As his voice rises with every word spoken, shadows writhe and coil around his feet, the landscape rippling and distorting as it begins to blur around the edges, the once blue sky darkening to a rich mahogany. It’s so unexpected that Izuku can’t help but gape up at the sky, fidgeting on his feet, too antsy to sit still as the air becomes more charged, as if they’re standing in the center of a storm. He rubs his arms, unable to completely suppress a shudder.

“I listen,” Mors harrumphs, taking offense to his accusation, oblivious to the way the atmosphere is reacting to Harry’s irritation. Either that, or he just doesn’t care. (Probably the latter.) 

“Oh, you do, do you?” snaps Harry, his face like thunder as he points accusingly at the owl. “Prove it then. Give me one concrete example where you do, in fact, listen and act as a proper companion should. _Well_? I'm all ears.”

“Um,” Izuku interjects, his voice small. “Please don’t fight?”

And just like that, the air clears, becoming lighter. “Of course,” Harry coos and all but bounces forward to give Izuku’s cheeks a gentle pinch, shooing Mors away with a look. The owl clicks his beak admonishingly but doesn’t otherwise react, simply finding another perch, this time on the fence, and watching the proceedings with a willful detachment that indicates passive-aggressive indifference. 

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” Izuku mumbles to himself and then falls silent, with slumped shoulders and downcast eyes that refuse to raise no matter how many times Harry pokes his forehead. Never in a million years did he think he would ever give in to his peers’ taunts and mockery, and yet here he stands, teetering precariously on the edge of the unknown. How weak-willed can he possibly be that he would willingly throw away his dream on the whims of school children and uncaring adults who shouldn't have a say in how he chooses to live his life? And for what—just to become another statistic in a world that is as unforgiving as it is fantastical? “I can’t believe...” A sob tears from his throat, and he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes to stop the flow of tears, to swallow down another sob as it threatens to force its way through his constricted throat.

Frowning, Harry slips a comforting arm around his shoulders and whispers in his most reassuring voice, with a touch of awkwardness that would have been endearing if not for the fact that he’s currently on the verge of hyperventilating, “Shh, shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He gives the boy’s shoulder a slight squeeze when Izuku tucks his face into the crook of his neck, like he used to do with his mother when he was trying to hide his tears from her. “This doesn’t have to be the end, you know,” comes the unexpected and quite startling answer to his problem. But—

“Will anything really change?” Izuku whispers in a slightly choked voice, before ungracefully disentangling himself from one of the more soothing hugs he’s ever been subjected to, grateful for the comfort but feeling decidedly unworthy of it.

Harry is silent for all of ten seconds before he caves to peer pressure (and the boy’s saddened, puppy dog eyes), “Well, no...You’ll still be—what was the word? Oh, right, quirkless—and I suppose the small-minded will still look down on you for it. But you’re also a lot braver than you give yourself credit for, and sure, it’ll take loads and loads of work and sacrifice to reach your goal, but it’s not like it’s impossible...Ugh, Mors! Make yourself useful for once and _engage_.” Because _Death_ knows he’s making a mess of things. He can tell by the dark amusement pulsing in the air around the lazy being, from the way he’s trying so hard not to burst out laughing. Bastard.

“Oh, no, Harry,” says Mors after a few more seconds have passed, just to be contrary, “Why should I interfere with your rather rudimentary attempt at encouragement when I can clearly see the effect your words are having on the poor, bereaved mortal? A right bang-up job you’re doing. I couldn’t be prouder.”

Harry grumbles beneath his breath and stomps his foot like a child in the middle of throwing the mother of all tantrums. (Like Dudley used to do back in the good old 80’s.) “Because you’re supposed to be older and wiser, oh ancient one.”

"It's fine. I understand," Izuku is quick to add before another argument has the chance to ignite, offering Harry a weak smile for at least caring enough to _try_ , even if he knows nothing will come of wishing for a second chance to see his dream come to fruition. 

But then Izuku decides to squander the moment, the perfect moment to prove the brunet's assertion of his purported bravery, by carefully avoiding looking in their direction (because, let's face it, at heart he's a coward.) 

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he allows his solemn gaze to roam around the roof, eerily reminded of his last moments, moments spent wondering why he had to be born different...wondering how much longer his mother would be made to suffer for his differences, considering how hard she tries to pretend he isn’t the odd one out when the world itself is determined to expose him for the _freak_ he was born to be. Wouldn't she be better off with him gone? Without having to apologize to all and sundry for giving birth to one of the quirkless?

And Harry—he _concedes_ , his glowing, green eyes taking on a steely glint and his jaw firming into stubborn lines. “I can’t give you a quirk, kid. I wish I had that kind of power. _However_ ,” he says before the boy can interrupt, his expression somber, “granting second chances is something I seem to excel at. And you, Midoriya Izuku, deserve a second chance.”

It’s the note of finality in his tone that silences any doubt Izuku may harbor, at least for the moment. _Do I really deserve a second chance_? He wants to ask, but going by the look in Harry’s eyes, the answer is obvious. His bottom lip trembles and a fresh bout of tears seep down his cheeks. God, he’s such a crybaby, always wearing his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see. No wonder everyone pokes fun at him.

“Really, Harry?” Mors lets out a long-suffering sigh and ruffles his feathers, a look of deep resignation settling over his avian features. “Well, I suppose the mortal realm will prove an adequate distraction from the monotony of paperwork and the squalling of simple-minded, self-absorbed souls. And I certainly won’t say no to a vacation. It’s been—what?...five or six decades—since our last one?” Practically vibrating with anticipation, he hops from one foot to the other like a child hyped up on sugar, so far removed from the powerful, unworldly presence that he’s almost unrecognizable.

Glancing between the two in slight bewilderment, Izuku slowly raises his hand as if he’s in class and knows the answer to Ohashi-sensei’s question but doesn’t quite know if he wants to be called on or not. But when Harry points his index finger at him, exaggeratedly mouthing ‘Go,’ he doesn’t hesitate to give voice to the one question circling his mind, loud and obtrusive. “What’re you planning to do?”

A lopsided smile works its way across Harry’s face, warming his eyes. “Simple, Midoriya-kun. I’m going to _fuse_ with you.”

His mind racing with the implications—how long will this fusion last? Will it be like a symbiotic relationship, similar to that one American comic book anti-hero, Venom? Will he still be himself after all is said and done?—Izuku dashes the tears from his eyes with his shirtsleeve, appearing more than a little conflicted. He wants to say yes, desperately so, because maybe then he’ll finally manage to silence the voice of doubt in his head that is beginning to sound more and more like Kacchan. But what if this decision changes him in irrevocable ways, turns him into someone even his own mother will be hard-pressed to recognize?

“Don’t worry, little hero,” Harry says reassuringly. “You’ll still be _you_ , just a slightly different variation of yourself. So...Do I have your permission?” 

After a long moment of consideration, Izuku nods, not trusting his voice, a lump half-formed in his throat. He tries to swallow around it, but it insists on staying there, an obstruction to the confidence and trust he’s still very much struggling to act upon. (Confidence in himself and his choices and trust in Harry to see the plan through without the fear of betrayal mucking everything up.)

As if recognizing his struggles, Harry flashes an encouraging smile and extends his hand, waiting for Izuku to accept it before gently reeling him in, a certain kind of poise about him that suggests dignity and self-assurance. “Trust me, Izuku. You’re in good hands.”

For once, Mors is a silent observer, his motionless silhouette flickering in the sunlight, reminiscent of a ghost.

Izuku, on the other hand, is the complete opposite, his breathing shallow and fast, his shaking hands becoming clammy with sweat, made all the more embarrassing when Harry gives the one he’s holding a reassuring squeeze. 

“Trust me,” the older boy repeats and then leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. Izuku’s lips part in surprise, darkness lingering at the edges of his mind but refusing to take him just then, determined as he is to resist falling under Harry's spell, one of comfort and peace of mind. But all it takes is another chaste kiss for darkness to engulf him completely, and all is silent once more.


End file.
